


An Exercise in Futility

by hotchpotch



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff and Crack, Gay Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), M/M, POV Outsider, POV Uther Pendragon (Merlin), also very cracky, gaius and the knights are mentioned in passing, set in a magical au where everyone suffers a little less, this is old, timeline is very weird, uther is written very sympathetically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26536492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotchpotch/pseuds/hotchpotch
Summary: Uther Pendragon thinks he's a very clever man.He also disapproves of his son's lover with the strength of a thousand sorcerers.He's going to put a stop to all this funny business even if it kills him.
Relationships: Arthur Pendragon & Uther Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon
Comments: 10
Kudos: 186





	An Exercise in Futility

**Author's Note:**

> warning: when i say this is old i mean this is OLD old. like 2016 level old. pls take up any complaints with dumb sixteen-year-old me.
> 
> i can't even remember the last time i read let alone attempted to write merlin fanfic. i just found this old thing, dusty and abandoned in some forgotten file on my laptop and thought hey, this'll do. and i really kinda miss my old style of writing, it was so refreshing to read actually. so here. enjoy.

For the most part, Uther Pendragon was a good King. He held great compassion for the people of his kingdom, whether they be rich or poor, and even though there were many errors he wished could be erased, Uther tried to do best by all of his loyal subjects in Camelot and guard them from the unimaginable terrors of sorcery.

Which was why he, generally, disregarded the insubordinate nature of his son’s personal manservant.

Arthur, Uther was well aware, was far more soft-hearted than he. Over the last few years Uther had seen his son grow out of his childish arrogance and into a levelheaded man who was empathetic to all of the castle’s servants — sometimes, a bit _too_ empathetic, but Uther felt he could allow him this at least. He was Igraine’s son, after all.

Arthur was no longer a boy. And while Uther was proud to see the man Arthur had become, he sometimes longed for the days when his son still looked to him for approval.

Uther was not stupid. He could see as plainly as the rest of the castle that the change in Arthur coincided with the appointment of Merlin — impetuous and utterly heedless of any and all convenances, and whom Uther had been reliably informed had some sort of mental affliction. The boy was a menace. It didn’t take Uther long to figure out that Merlin was a destructive person to be around, and took several precautions to limit interactions with him to the bare minimum.

Alas, even the best efforts of the King himself could not stop Merlin from splattering what was meant to be Arthur’s breakfast down Uther’s front one morning.

It was only Merlin’s good fortune that Arthur had happened upon them and thrown him in the stocks before Uther could execute the boy out of sheer frustration.

Nevertheless, no matter how much time he spent in said stocks getting pelted with rotten vegetables by the peasant children, no matter how many accidents he caused, no matter how often he exchanged barbs and slurs with Arthur — Merlin was harboured from any _real_ consequence by seemingly everyone.

The boy had his own quirky charm about him, total ignorance mixed with pure luck that shielded him from the danger of being let go from his position. In fact, he was fairly popular around the castle. The servants were only too happy to lend a hand in Merlin’s mammoth list of tasks, the kitchen staff eager to slip him some sweetmeats to fatten him up a bit, and the stablehands treated Merlin’s mare better than any other.

Even the knights offered their services — just a few days prior, Uther had spotted Sir Leon and Sir Bedivere hauling buckets of piping hot water up to Arthur’s chambers alongside Merlin. Uther pondered whether this counted as chivalry on the knights’ part or manipulation on Merlin’s. In the end he just gave up and drank some wine.

Arthur himself had moved past his days of whinging incessantly about Merlin’s complete inability to perform even the simplest of tasks (forgetting Arthur’s sword during the most recent tourney had been a popular criticism). And while this was a relief to Uther’s ears, brain, and patience, Arthur was now so used to Merlin’s presence that the absence of which would cause an uproar worthy of invasion.

Like that morning, for example, when Arthur slammed the door to the King’s chambers so violently that Uther’s page squeaked and scurried from the room.

‘Father, my manservant is missing,’ announced Arthur loudly, anger and frustration marking his tone so clearly that Uther thought perhaps lashing out was Arthur’s way of handling anxiety; it was Uther’s.

Uther lowered his quill with deliberate slowness, as if to demonstrate how a proper royal ought to behave. ‘Is that so.’

‘Yes.’ Arthur informed him stroppily. The last time Uther saw Arthur so petulant was when he was twelve and Morgana had bested him with a sword (for the first time of many). ‘Gaius told me that he and some of the knights frequent the tavern together,’ — here, Arthur scrunched his nose to show how he felt about _that_ — ‘but all of the knights are in attendance and none of them have seen Merlin since yesterday afternoon. Gaius, as well, has not seen him since late last night.’

‘I see.’

‘He could be kidnapped,’ continued Arthur, outraged by Uther’s lack of concern. ‘Or lying in a ditch somewhere in the lower town, wounded. Or —’

‘Arthur,’ interrupted Uther, every bit the unforgiving King.

Arthur fell begrudgingly silent, and Uther took the opportunity to examine his son. With a clenched jaw and taut lines around his eyes and mouth, Arthur appeared to be genuinely worried, in his own rough sort of way, which raised alarm bells in Uther’s mind regarding just how much hold Merlin had over his son. He had previously thought the boy to be harmless — irritating, granted, but harmless nonetheless. Even amusing, at times.

‘Dawn has barely passed,’ Uther told his son patiently. ‘The boy has likely spent the night in the brothel, as I know many of our better paid servants do.’

Arthur scoffed incredulously and let out a disbelieving laugh. ‘Merlin?’ Uther maintained his gaze, and Arthur’s good humour melted. ‘You’re serious,’ he said in perturbation.

For a moment, Uther thought that Arthur was acting far too offended at the accusation than was proper, but he waved the foolish notion away.

‘He has the money,’ said Uther uncaringly, picking up his quill again and returning his attentions to the grain reports in front of him. Absently, he rubbed at his chest… Gods, he could do with some wine himself, Gaius and his tonics be damned. ‘And when inebriated one rarely tends to act in a way that others expect.’

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, and he sniffed derisively. ‘Merlin is about as sexually active as a cleric.’

‘It may come as a surprise to you, Arthur,’ began Uther, eyebrow raised and expression stern, ‘but servants are as likely to broadcast their intimate lives as noblemen are. I hardly think that you would be knowledgable of the amorous pursuits of your manservant.’

Flustered, Arthur folded his arms huffily. ‘But I _know_ Merlin. He’s complained to me countless times about the dishonour of brothels and whores — the entire practice disgusts him!’

‘And yet while intoxicated I fear even the noblest of men would succumb to the temptation,’ ignored Uther blithely. ‘Arthur, while I’m sure the boy will appreciate your misguided concern, what he _won_ ’t appreciate is you and several knights — knights that I am reluctant to dispatch in search for a mere _servant_ — banging down the door to the lower town whorehouse in search of him. I’m sure an afternoon in the stocks when he turns up will be suitable punishment for neglecting his duties.’

‘ _If_ he turns up,’ mumbled Arthur childishly.

Uther glared. ‘ _When_ ,’ he corrected domineeringly. ‘The boy would have to be twice the idiot you claim him to be for him to flee from direct service of the Crown Prince. Now,’ he said with finality, returning his attention again to his parchments, ‘I believe your knights are awaiting their morning’s training session.’

Despite his obvious disagreement, Arthur could recognise when he was being dismissed. He bowed shortly, and exited Uther’s chambers in a mood.

Uther decided that Merlin’s poor manners were rubbing off on Arthur in the worst possible way.

*

As it turned out, Merlin did return later that day. From his chamber window, Uther had spotted the boy try to sneak inconspicuously back into the castle while Arthur was busy dealing with a convenient ruckus in the marketplace. He looked tired, his hair ruffled and yesterday’s clothes scruffier than usual, but even from up in the castle Uther could see that his exhaustion was not down to ale. Perhaps he had spent the night in a ditch after all.

Not that Uther had the time to care. Nor the patience. He was sure that Arthur would more than make up for his oversight, anyway, if his earlier actions were anything to go by. But Uther cast those thoughts from his mind, and focussed on the year’s trade profits.

It was only as Uther was making his way down to visit Geoffrey in the library about something or other when he even remembered Merlin’s disappearance. In fact, he could hear all about it in great detail considering the shouting from Arthur’s chambers could be heard almost a corridor away.

‘— and utter _idiot!’_ Arthur’s voice berated loudly. ‘Honestly, what on earth made you think that was a good idea? I should have you _flogged_!’

As Uther grew closer, he could see that Arthur’s door was ajar slightly, and while he was still a fearsome and mighty King, he was also a concerned father. Which is what he told himself repeatedly as he crept up to the door and peeked inside.

Merlin had been forced into a chair, his arms crossed grumpily, while Arthur dabbed roughly at a burn mark on Merlin’s cheek with some kind of sickly green paste.

‘It’s not my fault,’ grumbled Merlin. ‘She’s only a baby. And it’s not like there’s anyone else to look after her.’

Uther blinked. Had that mentally deficient boy somehow fathered a _child_? Gods, it was catastrophic enough with one Merlin running amok; the last thing Camelot needed was another.

‘It isn’t your responsibility.’ Arthur snapped, and Uther frowned. Perhaps it wasn’t Merlin’s child after all. ‘What _is_ you responsibility, however, is first and foremost _as my manservant._ Even the knights were solicitous, for some ill-conceived reason.’

‘She is my responsibility,’ mumbled Merlin sulkily, though with some measure of guilt at the mention of the knights.

Arthur scoffed, dropping the pot of paste on to the table. ‘You _found_ her, Merlin.’

‘But she could die without my help!’

Arthur scowled sharply and jabbed the burn on Merlin’s cheek pointedly. ‘It’s dangerous. Besides, there’s that other one. Whatever his name is.’

‘As if _he’d_ be any help,’ said Merlin darkly. ‘And who knows where he’s gone, now. Buggered off to Cenred’s kingdom, probably.’ Merlin sniffled. ‘And she’s only a _baby.’_

Arthur groaned, closing his eyes briefly and tilting his head heavenward. ‘The trouble you cause me, I swear to God, Merlin…’ he grumbled, but said, ‘Bring her here. We can hide her somewhere, in one of the drawers or something, until we can find a permanent home for her. We’ll have to be extremely cautious not to allow anyone but ourselves in my chambers. And the kitchens will have food.’ He poked a finger under Merlin’s nose warningly. ‘But if I hear so much as a _whisper_ —’

‘You won’t,’ chirped Merlin brightly. He stood up and — Uther could barely believe his eyes — _hugged_ Arthur fleetingly before clambering out of sight. ‘Thanks, Arthur.’

Uther quickly fled the scene (hearing his son embarrassedly shoo Merlin from his chambers and slam the door in the distance) and processed the information he’d just learnt.

So, first and foremost; that idiot boy, by hook or by crook, had ended up in charge of an infant and had snuck off to tend to her in the night. The burn marks he’d managed to acquire had been caused by an unknown source (without a doubt as a result of the boy’s own incompetence).

Second of all; Arthur had, quite rightly, been furious at the discovery, but eventually conceded in hiding the child in his chambers somewhere until further notice (Uther decided to feign ignorance about the matter, for the sake of the child if nothing else).

And thirdly; Merlin, careless to all unwritten rules of monarchy pecking order and the like, had the gall to not only disregard any manner of titles while addressing Arthur, but also to _hug_ his Crown Prince in thanks. And Arthur had _allowed_ it.

Needless to say that Uther stopped off at the kitchens for some wine before his trip to the library, hoping to forget the incident had ever occurred.

But sure enough, Merlin reentered the castle that evening with a wriggling blanketed bundle stuffed in his arms. Uther couldn’t see the babe from all the way up in his rooms but judging by the size of the bundle, she was quite large — possibly already a year old. Arthur appeared in a side entryway and hissed for Merlin to follow him, eyes darting around diligently for anyone who could have noticed Merlin’s clumsy steps.

Uther wasn’t sure why Arthur was trying to hide the babe from him — surely he knew that Uther wouldn’t leave the poor thing out alone in the cold? Surely he knew that Uther would find the child a home — maybe with one of the serving maids? Clearly not. It was almost offensive.

And as he watched his son drag Merlin and the child off down the corridor, barking an order at one of the passing knights, one could wonder if perhaps that was something he ought to be less sad about.

*

Uther didn’t hear of the child for a long time — almost two weeks, which (taking into account that halfwit of a servant’s involvement) truly was a long time. It was night, and his son and that boy were creeping through the castle, dragging along a bulging wicker basket of blankets and old tunics. Inside, Uther supposed, was the child.

He was only awake because it was approaching the eve of his Igraine’s name day, and it was reoccurring practice for Uther to not sleep a wink around the occasion.

However, the reason Arthur and Merlin were awake, and hauling a babe behind them, was unknown to him. Had they found a home for the child already? One they could trust was reliable? It was honest-to-goodness concern — and maybe just a dash of curiosity — that prompted Uther to hide behind the far side pillar as they passed and peep once more.

‘I don’t know _what_ I was thinking…’ muttered Arthur under his breath, boxing Merlin’s ears.

Merlin sniffled and rubbed his clipped ear, tucking the cradle out of view while Arthur stuck his head around the corner to check for knights. They both slid down the wall, opposite the pillar that Uther was standing behind, and sighed heavily with relief. Uther noticed that they both looked on the cusp of sleep, clearly unprepared by the effort needed in caring for a babe.

‘We’ve probably got a few minutes until patrol moves to this side of the castle. We’ll just about get her outside of Camelot before dawn. And it’s about time; we’ve been running around the castle for over an hour now,’ said Arthur, huffing out a breath. He faced Merlin in mild disbelief. ‘I don’t know how you get me into these messes, Merlin.’

 _‘Me?’_ squawked Merlin, affronted. ‘How is it _my_ fault?’

‘If you weren’t shirking your duties as my manservant — something I should sack you for, remember — then I would never have discovered your little secret. I could have remained blissfully unaware of your quandary.’ Arthur gave a superior sniff and looked Merlin up and down. ‘Honestly, I have no idea why I keep you around.’

Merlin smiled sweetly. ‘My charming personality? The stimulating conversation I provide? My quick wit, perhaps?’

‘No,’ pondered Arthur, ‘I think it’s more out of amusement that anything else.’

Merlin’s jaw dropped. ‘Amusement?’

‘Hmm…’ hummed Arthur in mock thought, lips twitching into a smirk despite himself. ‘I mean, you’re a mediocre servant _at best_ —’

‘Lies.’ Merlin lied terribly. ‘Horrific, _grossly_ exaggerated falsehoods. You know, as Crown Prince, you really need to set a better example for your people.’

Uther could hardly believe the boy’s impudence, but Arthur had continued talking as though this sort of behaviour was commonplace; now that Uther thought about it, he had no doubt that it most certainly was.

‘— you _continuously_ disrespect those with authority over you —’

‘You, you mean?’ commented Merlin dryly. ‘Because I think you’ll find that anyone who actually deserves my respect receives it. Perhaps you should work on no longer being a prat.’

‘— and anything even close to resembling your so called “wit” is naught but a hinderance to your duties (considering how much effort it must take for you to have an actual processed thought, let alone attempts at _joking)_ —’

‘You laugh at my jokes!’ Merlin said, offended.

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, Merlin.’ Arthur dismissed breezily, but a shocked Uther could see a dusting of pink across his son’s cheeks; Arthur hadn’t acted so oddly in years, he couldn’t even remember when it was so long ago.

Merlin’s lips twitched up into a ghost of a smirk. ‘Whatever you say, Arthur.’

Huffing, Arthur stood abruptly and dragged the basket towards him. Merlin tried to struggle to a stand as well; Arthur sighed, grabbed the front of his tunic in a fist, and yanked him effortlessly to his feet.

‘How you’ve managed this long without poor Hunith I’ll never know, Merlin,’ he said pityingly. ‘That woman deserves a medal.’

Merlin just beamed, dusting himself off. ‘Luck. Lots and lots of luck.’

Arthur stared at him for a moment before clearing his throat and, strength returned fully, lifted the basket in his arms, striding away swiftly. Merlin made an impatient noise in the back of his throat but followed.

Uther blinked slowly, remaining behind the pillar long after Arthur and Merlin had departed. Now he could remember when Arthur had last acted like that. It had been when he’d just turned thirteen, and a Lord visited with his daughters. The youngest, Esmerelda, had been fifteen at the time. Arthur, bold as brass and more than a little arrogant, had tried to kiss her and got a sharp smack for his troubles.

He hadn’t done anything of the like since, not even with the obviously keen serving maids or unmarried Ladies — his reluctance certainly wasn’t because of lack of opportunity. Uther had been beginning to worry that Arthur was one of nature’s eunuchs, that he would never marry and produce an heir.

Well. Clearly, he had been wrong.

It was just dealing with it that was the problem.

Now, Uther was not a cruel man, _especially_ not towards his son. Arthur was his entire world and, since his wife’s passing, his voice of reason on occasion. Sometimes, Arthur would speak as though Igraine herself was using him as a mouthpiece. Uther would never knowingly cause his son harm.  
Which was why he found it so difficult to come to a decision about the recent… developments.

It was not uncommon for a King to take a Consort — even _Queens_ had been known to, had she been in line to the throne rather than marrying into it — but Uther had a feeling that by now Arthur was more than a little emotionally invested in his servant. And Arthur was honourable; he wouldn’t even _entertain_ the thought of betraying his future Queen, even if his marriage were a loveless one. Not that Uther wanted Arthur to be in a loveless marriage, but he doubted that Arthur could love two people simultaneously, he still had far too much of his childish possessiveness in him for that.

Uther knew that he himself could never love another as fiercely and devotedly as he did Igraine, and he feared that Arthur would form a similar attachment to that manservant of his. A Pendragon’s heart was eternal, after all.

Perhaps there was still time before Arthur reached the point of no return. Perhaps Uther could still do something about it.

After all, it would only end in Arthur’s misery if he _didn’t_ interfere.

*

Utilising his position as King, Uther had no trouble in redirecting that Merlin boy to other duties in the castle. Now that the child was gone there was no reason for him to tend to Arthur directly at any time between morning and night. Serving breakfast at dawn and turning down the bed at dusk, as well a little smatterings of meetings throughout the day that were unavoidable, were the only few precious minutes in which Arthur would get a glimpse of his manservant. That ought to gradually distance his… feelings for Merlin. Uther was quite proud of himself, if he was honest.

It was all going successfully, for over ten days in fact, until Arthur burst into his chambers yet again.

‘You have no right to order my manservant around.’

‘Good morning, Arthur,’ greeted Uther wryly. He wasn’t surprised in the slightest. ‘And I am the _King._ I have every right.’

Arthur fumed. ‘There are countless other servants to assist you. Merlin is my _personal_ manservant. You appointed him to _me.’_

‘I did.’ Uther nodded. He had resolved to let Arthur’s impertinence slide until Merlin was tucked safely out of reach; Uther knew just how emotional these things could be sometimes.

‘He’s being overworked!’ cried Arthur. ‘He collapsed outside my chambers yesterday evening bringing up my dinner. It’s clear that he cannot handle all of the tasks assigned to him by me, as well as whatever you wish for him to do.’ Uther said nothing, and Arthur let out a laugh that bordered on hysteria; it was worse that Uther had anticipated. ‘You have your own manservant to do your tasks! You ought to use him before he becomes complacent!’

‘Arthur,’ began Uther warningly, but Arthur didn’t even seem to hear.

‘It’s been almost a day, and Merlin still hasn’t woken up! Gaius told me he’s not been eating or sleeping to allow time for his busy workload. It’s our duty to _protect_ Camelot’s citizens, not drive them to unconsciousness!’

‘I can see that you feel very strongly about this,’ stated Uther calmly. _Very_ strongly. Far too strongly for this to be something he could actively prevent at the moment. ‘I shall take your words into account.’

Arthur looked at him for a moment, an unidentifiable expression on his face. ‘I don’t even think I recognise you anymore,’ he said at last, and left the room before Uther had a chance to berate him for his disrespect (emotional turmoil be damned — there was a line and that line had been crossed).

Hmm. Perhaps a passive approach would earn a more productive and encouraging response.

*

Uther soon found out that a passive approach was almost as damaging as an active one.

His own manservant, Charles — who he had taken to using more frequently now — was the instrumental part in a relatively simple plan, his only confidant and ally. Upon Uther’s instructions, Charles was to spread gossip among the scullery maids (who were easily the most susceptible to rumours, particularly regarding anything even remotely connected to their Crown Prince) that Merlin and one of the stablehands had been seen tumbling in the hay on no less than two separate occasions (to infer emotional attachment; Uther was no fool to the way his castle operated, the servants would eat this up).

It wasn’t one of his proudest moments, mainly because the rumour was so terribly vague, but he had been pushed for time. He couldn’t allow Arthur to fall any deeper than he already had into Merlin’s peculiar charm.

As predicted, the rumour flourished. Not a single person in the castle hadn’t been informed at a low, conspiring whisper in the shadows of the corridors about the Prince’s manservant and the mysterious unnamed stableboy. Maids giggled as Merlin passed them and every stablehand was scrutinised suspiciously, even by the stablehands themselves.

However, what neither Uther nor Charles (who had been sworn to secrecy upon his induction to Uther’s noble cause) had foreseen was Arthur’s reaction.

Rather than grumble bitterly for a few months, but remain too proud to even hint at it to Merlin — which only months before he _would have done_ — Arthur demanded if the accusations were true (to which Merlin had replied with a horrified and fervent _no)_ and then simply _accepted it._ In fact, he went so far as to _scold the servants_ for skiving their duties in favour of spreading _vicious_ and _harmful lies._

Well. Charles had been reluctant to admit it, but even Uther could see that all his plan had done was solidify Merlin’s presence in Arthur’s life even more. It had been a catastrophic disaster.

It was two for two. Arthur had been shoved forcefully towards Merlin and Merlin towards him (twice) and it had been all Uther’s fault. The time for planning was over. If Uther was to deal with this, he would have to strike directly at the heart of the problem.

*

Hands steepled under his chin, Uther’s narrowed eyes studied Merlin’s fidgeting form. Mild and meek, despite the reliable knowledge Uther possessed that the boy was neither of those things, Merlin shifted his weight (there couldn’t be much of it) from one foot to the other, almost bouncing in trepidation.

‘Arthur said I’m not allowed to take orders from you anymore, Your Highness,’ blurted Merlin suddenly. Uther raised an eyebrow, and Merlin flushed in embarrassment. ‘Erm… _Prince_ Arthur, that is.’

Uther filed that away for later consideration. ‘I have listened to the Prince’s advice on the matter. You are not here to tend to my needs.’

Merlin blinked slowly. ‘Then why _am_ I here? Sire,’ he added hastily; benevolent as he was, Uther decided to let it go.

‘I need to talk to you about a rather… delicate matter. Regarding my son’s wellbeing.’

Merlin’s concentration snapped up in attention, and he looked intently at Uther. ‘Is Ar— Prince Arthur in danger?’ he asked worriedly, and Uther hid a victorious smirk; he had him.

‘I fear as much,’ he said gravely. Merlin visibly paled. ‘As my son’s most trusted servant,’ — Uther masked his disapproval of the suggestion that servants could be trusted with anything more important than serving food and cleaning chamberpots — ‘you of all people must understand the hardships of being the Prince of Camelot. We have enemies who wish to see him dead.’

‘If I can do anything to protect him, I will,’ vowed Merlin solemnly.

Uther squashed down a flicker of regret, seeing Merlin’s open dedication and reverence for Arthur with his own eyes for the first time. He had never believed a simple peasant could be capable of such loyalty. ‘There is a camp of sorcerers, along the border of Essetir,’ began Uther. ‘It has been recently brought to my attention that they have allied themselves with Camelot’s most dangerous enemy.’

That wasn’t entirely untrue. There was a camp, but instead of full-fledged sorcerers it was a camp of _potentially_ harmful druids who had spent the last several years building a rocky alliance with King Cenred, Uther’s biggest political rival. Talk about killing two birds with one stone.

‘Sending Camelot’s knights would arouse suspicion, or possibly be interpreted as an act of war. Sending an unassuming peasant, on the other hand, would be the perfect disguise. And who better, than a genuine peasant?’ Uther wrinkled his nose briefly at Merlin’s attire. ‘One who is unwaveringly loyal to King and Country?’

Despite his anxious and undecided shuffling, Uther could tell that Merlin was seriously considering it. Of course as King, Uther could simply order it so, but to gradually remove Arthur from Merlin’s hold with as little pain as possible it had to be done without force. Regrettably. He couldn’t risk it, however, else it end up backfiring spectacularly like his previous two plans.

Eventually, Merlin nodded resolutely. ‘Okay. To help protect the Prince, I’ll do it.’

‘Excellent.’ Uther’s grin was wolfish in victory. ‘My manservant shall further inform you about your task,’ — a vague wave from Uther sent Charles scurrying forward with a folded map under his arm, shepherding Merlin out of Uther’s chambers — ‘and I wish you luck on your endeavour. Your loyalty will not be forgotten.’

The door snapped shut, the hushed voices of the servants waning in volume, and Uther allowed himself a self-satisfied smirk. Even forcing down that rancid potion of Gaius’s came easy in the face of his new victory. Not only had he gotten rid of that little Merlin problem for Arthur (which would do him a world of good, Uther was sure), but he’d also managed to obtain a faithful-to-the-end spy sending regular updates about a potentially hostile band of druids and their plans for Camelot.

Uther cracked his knuckles and leant back in his chair. All in a day’s work for the King.

*

Merlin rode at dusk, his only sendoff being Charles (who had helped to prepare his pack and saddle his horse) and Uther (who watched the scene, beady-eyed, from his chambers’ window). Arthur would be told in the morning that Merlin was visiting an unwell family member — where, Uther had no care for; he decided upon Mercia in the end, because it was in the exact opposite direction of Essetir, should Arthur feel compelled to pursue the boy — and after the inevitable display of fury, Uther had full confidence that his son would eventually recover from the perceived abandonment.

Gaius would be told the same story, and Uther decided to leave it up to them to make the other servants aware. It was no longer his business. Never let it be said that Uther Pendragon stuck his nose where it wasn’t wanted.

And so it was with a great deal of suspicion that Uther welcomed an unnervingly calm Arthur into his chambers early the next morning.

‘Charles had informed me that Merlin is visiting family,’ said Arthur, his voice level. ‘In Mercia.’

‘A cousin, I believe,’ embellished Uther, his faith in the plan bolstering his confidence. 'Dreadfully unwell. He came to me personally to resign from his position.’

Whether Arthur believed this was a mystery. His face was carefully masked as indifference. ‘And he didn’t see fit to tell me?’

‘I appointed him his position —’

‘For saving my life.’

Uther paused, frowning slightly. ‘Yes. Is that of consequence?’

Arthur’s jaw hardened for a moment. ‘Of course not. Do continue.’

Uther looked at him for a moment, but his face was unreadable. ‘Yes, well, as he was granted his position by myself, it was only fitting he should come to me to retire from it. I’m sure the fact the boy overlooked informing you was due to worry for his Mercian relations.’

‘Hmm.’ Arthur’s eyes were guarded, and it was several moments until he spoke again. Uther almost heaved a breath of relief at the following words. ‘Very well. I had only hoped to wish him well on his travels. I suppose I can wait until he returns to ask about his family.’ He turned to leave.

‘Ah, he won’t be returning,’ said Uther, a tad too quickly. Arthur halted, his stance transforming entirely, and faced him again. Uther swiftly composed himself. ‘The boy told me that his cousin was practically on his deathbed. He was insistent on immediate — _permanent_ — dismissal.’

Arthur was silent. ‘I see,’ he said at last, his voice quiet. ‘I… ought to see to the knights. Good morning, Sire.’

Uther let him go. Somehow success didn’t feel quite so sweet as he’d imagined.

*

Later that very day, Arthur departed for a hunt. Alone. Not even a servant had been permitted to accompany him. Uther understood this behaviour all too well; when his lovely Igraine passed, Uther had been prone to abandoning the castle with nothing more than a crossbow and his sword, seeking time alone in melancholic contemplation. He still did, sometimes, although rarely. It was the only way he knew how to soothe a broken heart.

By the time Arthur had been gone for two days, Uther began to worry. His son was not stupid enough to go on an extended hunt alone, which could only mean that he was injured, abducted, tracking that dolt of a boy, or — God forbid it — killed.

The thought alone provoked Uther into dispatching a team of his best knights, knights that he knew Arthur favoured, in search of him. Sirs Leon, Gawain, Elyan, Percival and Lancelot had all been eager to go looking for him. In his worry, Uther failed to recognise that none of these knights appeared to be particularly concerned about Arthur’s absence. Nevertheless, they galloped from the city, waved off by a small entourage of tearful maids who feared for their and Arthur’s safety.

Three more days passed, and Uther was contemplating whether or not to increase patrols when a worn, ragtag party of Camelot colours trotted into the castle square — Arthur among them.

Also, shockingly, Merlin. His eyes were downcast self-consciously as he slid off his horse, and Arthur tugged carefully at his arm. The knights fussed over him too, and helped him stable his horse without complaint.

Uther gaped at the image. There were no words.

*

‘Father,’ greeted Arthur stiffly as Uther barrelled into his son’s chambers that evening.

Merlin was snoring softly, curled up on the bed — _the Prince’s bed_ — with Arthur standing protectively over him. Uther let out a sharp breath through his nose and narrowed his eyes briefly at Merlin’s sleeping form.

‘Arthur,’ was Uther’s clipped reply, equally reserved. ‘I see you fetched the boy.’

‘You should not have sent him away,’ Arthur said icily.

Uther instructed his face to covey an appropriate amount of surprise. ‘Arthur, I would never —’

‘Merlin’s only family is his mother, who you and I both know is from Ealdor,’ gritted out Arthur. ‘She appealed to you for aid just a few years ago. But I suppose you couldn’t send me to Essetir — it was, after all, _the very direction in which Merlin was travelling.’_

‘I sent you nowhere.’ Uther said defensively, but Arthur scowled. Uther let out a growl of impatience. ‘For goodness sake, Arthur, you are acting like a child.’

‘ _I_ am acting like a child?’ Arthur’s voice was quickly growing louder and stronger. ‘I was not the one to _mistreat, defame_ and _banish_ my manservant; that was _you._ You manipulated Merlin’s trust in me for your own gain, and I’m fortunate that he places no blame on me.’

‘And what have I to gain for using that brain-addled boy?’ asked Uther, sniffing.

Arthur glared ferociously, a look Uther had only seen a handful of times but had never been on the receiving end of. ‘I have no idea, but that changes nothing. One of the scullery maids was only too eager to inform me that Charles had been the one who told them of that rumour in the first place. I see you’re taking my advice in utilising your own servant, but I am at a loss as to why that particular demand was necessary.’

Inwardly, Uther cursed his misfortune of the maids’ tendency to gossip; yet again, his own weapon had been used against him. Arthur continued speaking, slowly advancing forward so that Uther had no choice but to edge back.

‘After a little persuasion, Merlin _himself_ told me that he left Camelot on your orders; he had barely recovered from your mistreatment, and yet you sent him anyway.’ Arthur’s eyes darkened. Uther suddenly found himself outside of his son’s chambers. ‘If any more harm comes to him and I discover that you were involved — directly or otherwise — then I will renounce all claim to the throne. Take that as warning. Good evening, Sire,’ he said scathingly, and he slammed the door on Uther’s face.

Uther, flustered, glanced around quickly to see if any passing guards had noticed; one, who was stationed outside Arthur’s chambers, had taken a few tactful steps back, avoiding his eyes. Uther let out a furious huff to cover his embarrassment and stormed off to his chambers.

The nerve of that boy.

*

A quick tally of his successes and failures in this mission told Uther he was woefully lacking in any of the former.

Not only had Uther’s actions indirectly caused Merlin to shoot up to Arthur’s primary concern, but Arthur himself restricted his interactions with Uther to the lowest level. When he spoke about court matters in royal summits, Arthur only ever addressed the room and was the first to pick holes in Uther’s propositions (in an impartial and open-ended manner, of course — they were still royalty).

Arthur had even been successful in diverting the court’s attention away from Uther’s sorcery concerns and towards “pressing” matters, such as the unfair distribution of taxes and the rarity of proper food in the lower town.

The way Arthur phrased his proposals made Uther suspect Merlin’s involvement, but he couldn’t deny that they were valid points, if a little degrading — having an audience of some of the most powerful men in the kingdom was a place for threats of magic and invasion, not raising bother about peasant affairs.

Howbeit, Arthur had managed to win over the court’s favour and had even pressured the Lords to agree to an inverted tax system — not to mention the additional support the crown itself would give to the truly dire cases. Uther would concede that this was an admirable and noble cause (not to mention one that had increased Arthur’s popularity among both the nobles and the people tenfold), but Camelot’s royal household should take precedence, always.

Uther was beginning to see just how deep Merlin’s influence ran, but was torn as to whether or not this had a positive or negative effect. One one hand, Arthur’s credibility as a benevolent future King had not even slightly tarnished the formidable image he’d built through his successes in tourneys and battles. The people saw him as merciful and capable, the knights as fierce and just, and the nobles as unwavering and worthy. Uther was comforted by the fact that Arthur would have no trouble in balancing his duties when he was crowned King.

But on the other hand, Merlin was a _servant,_ not an advisor. There may be a few flickers of wisdom amongst his babble, but Arthur was relying on him far too much than was healthy. The amount of dependability Merlin afforded Arthur was a great weakness, one that rival kingdoms would easily take advantage of.

With the added misfortune of Arthur’s _emotions,_ Uther feared that if anything happened to Merlin, Arthur would be unable to bounce back and lead efficiently. Uther had had his son to ground him after Igraine’s passing, but Arthur would have no one.

And Gods, then there was also the matter of an _heir._

The cons definitely outweighed the pros, and Arthur was blind to it. Or perhaps he simply didn’t care. In which case, Uther had misjudged his son as prepared to take the throne and all that entailed. Personal sacrifice was the largest and most difficult part of being King.

Despite everything Arthur continued to prosper. Over the following weeks and months, he proved himself time and time again, and the people of Camelot reaped the benefits. Crop yields in the outlying farms and villages were generously dispensed throughout the kingdom, with only twelve fields solely dedicated to the castle compared to the previous twenty.

Taxes on the poor went down — upon Arthur’s vehement demand, and by this point none of the Lords had been brave enough to overrule him (Uther himself had to comply or face the visible dissolution of their relationship as King and Prince, a foible Arthur knew he couldn’t afford) — and as a result trade was booming; allied kingdoms were more eager to commerce with Camelot than ever before now that its people where richer, and the variety in foods and cloths had been a godsend for the people’s morale. This glimmer of the King Arthur would one day become swelled Uther’s heart with pride.

And yet despite the leaps and bounds in Camelot’s prosperity, Merlin was _still there._

*

Alongside all of this, Merlin had barely been let out of Arthur’s sight. Knights fond of Merlin were only too happy to escort him around the castle whenever Arthur was unavailable, and they were even, dare Uther say it, _accepting_ of whatever… _relationship_ Arthur and Merlin shared.

Uther realised this when he was passing the armoury one afternoon — a habit that he’d developed over the last few weeks in the hopes of accidentally coming across his son and requesting Arthur’s audience; there was no way Arthur could refuse him in front of his knights. And Uther got his desire, although in hindsight he wished he never had.

Arthur hadn’t noticed him, and neither had Merlin and two of Arthur’s favoured knights, Sir Gawain and Sir Lancelot — the only two peasant-born knights in Camelot’s ranks. All four of them were standing in the armoury, door ajar just enough for Uther to peek inside and not risk getting caught. Sir Gawain and Sir Lancelot were slotting handfuls of swords, maces, spears, and all manner of freshly polished weaponry into their rightful places. Arthur and Merlin, however, were far too busy embracing to be of much help.

Uther was speechless. He had suspected, and his suspicions had soon become hard fact, but it never seemed to cross his mind that if Arthur had active feelings for somebody and that somebody returned those feelings, there would be… _intimacy._ Intimacy that Uther never had any intention of concerning himself with, yet here he was. Staring it right in the face.

Merlin’s hands rested on Arthur’s shoulders while Arthur’s head was bent, palms cupping Merlin’s face tenderly and lips gentle, careful, as if Merlin was made of glass.

‘Aw, how sweet,’ grinned Sir Gawain roguishly, causing Arthur and Merlin to step away from each other; Arthur irritable, Merlin embarrassed but smiling. ‘Honestly, Princess, can’t you keep it in your breeches a bit longer and help out?’

He sniggered as Arthur glared fiercely and wrapped an arm around Merlin’s waist protectively.

Sir Gawain tugged him away from Arthur and winked. Uther privately thought that if Arthur _had_ to have the boy, he was doing a rather poor job at keeping him. ‘I’ll look after our Merlin, eh?’

Sir Lancelot chuckled softly but shook his head and patted Sir Gawain’s arm. ‘Sometimes I fear you have a death wish, my friend.’

Merlin was grinning, but wriggled out of Sir Gawain’s hold and stepped back over to Arthur, much to the latter’s smug delight.

‘He’s your knight, you can’t hurt him,’ whispered Merlin to Arthur, as Sir Gawain bickered melodramatically with Sir Lancelot.

Arthur sniffed, every bit the spoilt Prince he was (Uther wasn’t ashamed to admit what was true). ‘I can do whatever I want, Merlin.’

‘He means no harm. He has a big heart, that’s all.’ Merlin smiled teasingly, poking Arthur in the ribs. ‘A bigger heart than you.’

‘Only because you have stolen half of mine,’ mumbled Arthur quietly; Uther had to strain to hear.  
Merlin’s eyes softened, and leant in again to no doubt continue… intimacy. Uther strode hastily in the direction of his rooms, trying his utmost to delete the entire exchange from his memory.

He barked for a jug of wine to be sent to his chambers as he passed a serving girl in the corridor, and he must have looked positively terrifying to caused the poor lass to squeak and slip, almost cracking her head open on the stone steps.

Uther was so distressed that he hardly noticed.

*

Seeing as all of his plans had failed him thus far, this time Uther took his time to observe Arthur’s chosen companion before acting, and he still had absolutely no idea what separated the boy from all others.

Uther had come to a difficult compromise that Arthur could _possibly_ be allowed Consort on the nonnegotiable condition that he marry; Camelot needed a Queen regardless, they would just have to find one who was understanding enough to put up with it. But a servant? A _peasant?_ That clumsy, inefficient boy as apposed to a knight or a nobleman? It made no sense.

Granted, the boy was devoted, unwavering, which was a rarity among common blood. But the knights were loyal, too — it had been bred into their bones, for mercy’s sake! And while Uther conceded that Merlin had expressed occasional bouts of integrity, there were hundreds of knights that did so constantly, _unthinkingly._

Over the coming days, Uther saw flickers of potential intelligence in Arthur’s manservant. Perhaps with time, the boy could rival men in far higher ranks — but it would be a wasted effort. Why should Arthur bother with all that hassle when there were others readily available? He was Crown Prince; he deserved the very best, be it Consort or Queen. Uther firmly stood by this, ever since Arthur was a child. And, it was plain to see, Merlin was far from the best.

He was scrawny and awkward-looking and half-athletic, a far cry from what a man ought to be. If Uther hadn’t seen for himself Arthur’s utter disinterest in the female form, he would believe that his son was simply confused; Merlin was hardly a _man._ In fact, Uther was sure that if the boy was put in a dress, half of the (admittedly dense) court wouldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary whatsoever.

Uther simply couldn’t understand what was so important about the boy, and it was driving him mad.

*

Eventually, Arthur realised what exactly had been the King’s motivation in getting rid of Merlin. Uther had been on the receiving end of belligerent glares for the better part of the day before his son saw fit to break his wall of silence.

‘It is hardly uncommon for a noble to take a bedmate.’

Uther lifted an eyebrow regally. ‘None of those were Princes.’

‘Precisely why Princes tend to favour male lovers.’

Uther stared at his son, unconvinced. ‘I highly doubt that boy is simply a substitute for your Queen, Arthur.’

To his credit, Arthur reddened only slightly. ‘That’s hardly the point, Father.’

‘It’s precisely the point.’ Uther sat up straighter at his desk, shuffling his papers around idly. ‘A King must have his Queen, and his Queen must be of noble birth. There are no exceptions, Arthur, not even for you.’

‘And if Mother had been a servant instead of a noblewoman?’ muttered Arthur bitterly, glaring up at him. ‘Would you have still loved her?’

Uther felt his expression harden coldly. ‘Do not test me, boy.’

‘This was never my intention, Father,’ disobeyed Arthur bravely. ‘Who would choose a servant over a Queen?’

‘Apparently, Arthur, you would,’ said Uther distastefully.

‘But it is not a choice!’ Arthur cried. ‘There was never a choice! The entire purpose of love is that there will never _be_ a choice!’

Uther scoffed scornfully, furious at this entire situation. What had he ever done to deserve this? ‘You fancy yourself in love, do you?’

Arthur tilted his chin up defiantly. ‘I do.’

‘And what of your duties?’ said Uther angrily. ‘An heir? You have forgotten your place. A Prince cannot be afforded the luxuries of love — you would do good to remember that.’

 _‘Everyone_ deserves love,’ spat Arthur, ‘and I’m sorry for whatever it was that caused you to think otherwise.’

‘You know precisely what has caused me to think that,’ hissed Uther, blood and fury. A sharp pain stabbed through his heart suddenly, but he was so utterly consumed with delivering this long overdue lecture on responsibility that he hardly noticed. ‘All the while magic blights this land we _must,_ at _all costs,_ uphold _decency._ Integrity, morality, decorum. That is our role. One day, Arthur, you will be _King._ A King must never fall to his own selfishness.’

Arthur’s eyes flashed. ‘Then what King are you?’ he said quietly. Uther could feel the pain grow sharper still. The breath was stolen from his lungs. Slowly, he began to wheeze. ‘You talk of selfishness, but look at you — Gods, look at me! You were perfectly happy to use magic when it suited you, weren’t you, but the _moment_ it stopped ben— Father? _Father?’_

Uther dropped to the ground like a dead weight. The last thing he heard before darkness consumed him was his son’s frantic screaming.

*

Uther wasn’t ever conscious of waking up again, only that he was awake. One moment he had been disciplining his son (or attempting to; the sheer volume of his love for Arthur often made it difficult. He’d always thought of himself as a soft touch), and the next, many many moments later, he was standing as he had been in his solar.

Only his solar was much changed. All of his papers had been squirrelled away somewhere, his furniture moved. Worst of all, his magnificent tapestry of a crowned bear bloodily tearing the heart out of a stag was missing.

Hn. Something was wrong.

‘I just… I still can’t believe it,’ croaked a voice. Uther spun around so sharply that he was surprised he didn’t crack any bones in his spine. _That was his son._

And flanked, once again, by that blasted Merlin. Uther twitched irritatedly when he spied the boy’s arm wrapped around Arthur comfortingly. Gods, was there no decency left in the world? He was right there.

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ said Merlin firmly. ‘It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Gaius said he’d been suffering from chest pains for almost a whole year.’

Gaius. That rat. Uther had vowed to have him drawn and quartered if he so much as whispered any hint of weakness to anyone, and here he was, nattering away about it to any old village dolt?

‘The last words I said to him were in anger,’ mumbled Arthur. He looked… absolutely distraught. Uther shifted uncomfortably. Did they even know he was here? ‘I know it’s hard to understand, but he was my _father._ I love… loved him, and now I’ll never —’ Arthur cut himself off to sob, curled up on himself like a pitiful little child.

Enough was enough. ‘Arthur,’ snapped Uther. ‘Stop that at once. Sit up _straight,_ for mercy’s sake, you are a _Prince._ I’m right here.’ They could fix it. Whatever it was, they could fix it. Uther was King, who else could boast that? A King could do damned near anything.

Neither of them even acknowledged Uther had spoken.

‘Uther Pendragon was many things,’ began Merlin with gentle wryness, ‘but there was no doubt to anyone how much he loved you. You were the most precious thing to him in the world.’

Arthur sniffed disparagingly, bitterly pessimistic, ‘How can I forgive myself? I practically killed him myself.’

Merlin knocked his shoulder into Arthur’s softly. ‘Hey, don’t give yourself too much credit, clotpole. If your bad moods had the power to strike someone dead half the country would be six feet under. Good thing, too. You’re stroppy when you haven’t eaten.’ Arthur gave a soundless snort. ‘Here,’ said Merlin tenderly, pushing a small untouched plate closer to him, ‘it’ll make you feel better.’ At Arthur’s resentful look, he amended, ‘It’ll make you _think_ better, then. How are you supposed to make sense of anything if you don’t eat?’

Uther felt himself flicker. He didn’t know what was going on, refused to let himself grasp it, but the embers of his soul were dampening and he… he knew that he wouldn’t be seeing his son again for a long, long while.

‘I’m sorry,’ muttered Arthur after he’d picked away at some of the food. ‘It’s been weeks and I’m still… Gods. I’m a King, now. I can’t keep wallowing like this.’

‘Gaius is heading the council, Sir Leon’s training the knights. Gwen is doing a great bloody job keeping the castle running. You don’t have to worry about a thing. Take your time.’

Arthur set his mouth stubbornly. Both Merlin and Uther knew that _taking his time_ would be near impossible to achieve.

‘You said the druids have started a pilgrimage. When do you expect them?’

With a frown, Merlin said after a moment’s thought, ‘No later than a month. They’re all coming together, after all, so they need to convene as one first.’

‘Brave of them. The last time any druids came to Camelot they were arrested and executed.’

‘They believe in you, Arthur.’

‘No,’ said Arthur, huffing, ‘they believe in you. “Once and future king”… load of nonsense. You’re the one they trust.’

‘And I trust you.’

Arthur closed his eyes, looking pained. ‘I… I don’t think I can be the King you think I can be, Merlin.’

Uther’s embers were cooling. The silence that followed this could have been his own consciousness fading, but as the solar and its furnishings and the sunny stream of light from the window fuzzed into smudging blackness, he heard the servant’s last reverent vow.

‘With all due respect, Your Grace,’ he said, with tart fondness, ‘you already are.’


End file.
